Gemma of an unblinking owl. Her heart melted. ‘Kiddo, it’s just you and me now. And we’re not going to let this lick us.’ She dropped a quick kiss on Mollie’s curly head. Then she walked briskly back up the path to her flat, determined to tackle this task in as businesslike a fashion as possible.
A swish of tyres behind her brought her spinning around. In her driveway, a taxi was pulling up and a tall, rangy figure leapt from the passenger’s seat.
Max Jardine!
How in tarnation had he got from Western Queensland to Brisbane so quickly?
‘Gemma!’ Max barked as he swung open her front gate and strode towards her. His piercing blue eyes were fixed on Mollie. ‘Where’s Isobel?’
‘Hello, Max. Nice to see you, too,’ Gemma replied coolly while her heart thudded. Max switched his gaze to her and he glared as ferociously as a headmaster scowling at an unmanageable pupil. Suddenly, she felt extremely self-conscious—as if her skirt was too short, her black stockings too sheer, or her platform heels too high. No matter how much decorum she’d acquired over the years, this older brother of Dave’s always, always, always made her feel like a silly little girl. ‘How did you get here so quickly?’ she demanded.
‘I flew. I got in early this morning from checking out the back country and found Isobel’s message on the answering machine.’
Gemma remembered that she’d been told Max had invested in his own light aircraft.
‘Well, Isobel’s already left for Eagle Farm airport. You probably passed her.’
Max grimaced. ‘So she’s going ahead with this madcap scheme?’
‘Yes, she’s a very determined woman.’ Gemma hugged Mollie a little closer. Faced by this angry maelstrom of a man, she found the baby’s warmth and softness reassuring.
Cursing, Max ran impatient fingers through his dark brown hair. ‘I should be the one chasing across the world after Dave.’
Gemma smacked a hand to her forehead, pantomime-style, and beamed at him. ‘What a brilliant idea! Why didn’t Isobel or I think of that? You’re the obvious choice. You’re Dave’s brother. You’re family but, even better, you’re a man. You could spare Isobel the danger and Isobel—’ Gemma felt a heady rush of excitement and relief as the next point sank in ‘—and Isobel could continue to care for Mollie.’
‘So you don’t want to look after the baby?’
‘I—I didn’t say that.’ Her sense of relief plummeted. She and Max had hardly been talking for thirty seconds and already he’d found a way to put her down. ‘Of course I’m happy to mind her, but could you really go to Africa? Do you have your passport with you?’
‘Don’t you think I haven’t tried to go?’ Max glared back at her. ‘Foreign Affairs quickly knocked me back. They told me in no uncertain terms to stay out of it. Isobel is Dave’s next of kin and they want the wifely touch to try to appeal on humanitarian grounds. Apparently, that’s much more likely to get Dave released. I’m not happy, but I’m not going to muddy the water.’
Gemma’s shoulders sagged. ‘I suppose that’s wise. It does sound like a touchy situation.’
Max merely grunted. He moved up the path towards her and she found herself backing away from his determined stride. Some women had been heard to comment that now he’d reached thirty Max was even more good-looking than he’d been in his teens, but none of them had enticed him into marriage and Gemma knew why. His personality hadn’t improved one jot.
‘Who decided that you should be taking care of the baby?’ he drawled.
She squared her shoulders. ‘Her mother is absolutely certain that I am the perfect choice.’
A sudden wind gusted across the garden and Gemma ducked her head to protect Mollie, so she missed seeing his reaction. But she didn’t miss the sound of her front door slamming shut. Horrified, she whirled around. Dammit! Now she was stranded on her own front path with a baby in her arms and Max Jardine glowering at her.
He looked in the direction of her door. ‘You’re not locked out, are you?’
She fumbled around in her pockets, knowing that it was useless and that her keys were still hanging on a little brass hook in her kitchen. ‘Yes,’ she replied through gritted teeth.
‘You can’t get in the back way?’
‘No. I made sure I closed my back door because I was worried about my neighbour’s cat and…the baby.’
For a fraction of a second, she almost thought he smiled at her. ‘So it’s a case of climbing through a window.’
Gemma looked at her windows. It had been windy all day and the only one she’d left open was in her bedroom.
‘I can get through there in a flash,’ Max offered.
She pictured him swinging his riding boots and his long, jeans-clad legs over the sill, squeezing past the big bed that almost filled her small room—seeing the muddle of books, perfume and make-up on her bedside table and the underwear she’d left in a jumble on the end of the bed.
For some silly reason, she felt ridiculously flustered at the mere thought of Max seeing her private domain. ‘It’s OK,’ she said quickly. ‘I’ll go. I—I know my way around.’
This time he was definitely smiling. His blue eyes danced as they rested first on Mollie in her arms and then on her short skirt. ‘If you insist on getting in there yourself, let me at least help.’ He held out his arms for Mollie.
Oh, Lord! What was worse? Did she want Max Jardine prowling around her bedroom, or Max, with Mollie in one arm, helping her up to her window and watching her skirt hike over her hips as she clambered through? Damn the man! Why did his presence always rock her so badly? This was hardly a life-threatening situation and yet she was feeling completely rattled.
‘I guess you’ve got the longer legs. You’d better do the climbing,’ she muttered ungraciously.
‘OK,’ he agreed easily, and in no time he had disappeared.
She saw her lace curtain snag as Max moved past it and she wondered what he thought of the ridiculously huge bed that dominated her tiny bedroom. She had taken the flat because it came fully furnished and the rent was cheap, considering how closely it was situated to the central business district. Most tenants, she assumed, would consider the king-size bed a bonus, but it was rather more than she needed.
The front door swung open.
‘Miss Brown, Miss Mollie,’ Max welcomed them with a deep bow.
‘Thanks,’ Gemma replied stiffly as she sailed past him into her flat with her head high. At the entrance to her lounge room, she paused and eyed him coolly, feeling uncomfortably more like the guest than the hostess. To right matters she added, ‘I take it you’ve come to visit us?’
‘We’ve got to work out what’s best for this little one.’
Gemma sighed. She sensed combat ahead of her and here she was, facing the enemy without any time to construct a battle plan. The whole business of getting into the flat had set
